God touched my shoulder.

I’d been sitting in a worship service not paying attention to the words from the pulpit. My mind had wondered into another realm.

I’d pondered deeply on the powerfully sustaining and healing nature of human touch. I’d contemplated the depth of the wound inflicted on those who are deprived of it.

At the conclusion of the meeting, I came back to my surroundings. Congregants crowded the aisles, some visiting, others struggling to disperse.

I spotted Beverly pressing through the crowd, coming from the far side of the chapel, her eyes fixed firmly on mine as if she’d been sent on a specific errand. Without a word, she leaned over the pew and rested her hand gently on my shoulder.

Beverly’s touch confirmed every thought and feeling I’d experienced during my meditation. It electrified my soul. At that moment, God’s hand was hers. She’d honored her errand. She later told me, “I felt you just needed a touch.”

Beverly’s touch healed me.

Be God’s hands. That’s why you’re here.